


Are your lights still on?

by ItsGahbage



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, F/F, Light Angst, Renaissance Faires, i say light angst but it's a conversation about shadow weaver, pretty much every main character pre-s5 shows up or is at least mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsGahbage/pseuds/ItsGahbage
Summary: Staring up at the worn sign, with “The Renaissance Faire of Etheria” written across it in faded Ye Olde Font, Catra wonders if it’s not too late to turn around and head back into Scorpia’s car.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 272
Collections: Catradora Big Bang 2020





	Are your lights still on?

Staring up at the worn sign, with “The Renaissance Faire of Etheria” written across it in faded Ye Olde Font, Catra wonders if it’s not too late to turn around and head back into Scorpia’s car.

As if it weren’t bad enough that the sky threatens rain and the humidity threatens to make her hair all poofy and weighed down like she hates. Catra would rather be anywhere but here - at least at home she could sleep, or steal Entrapta’s leftovers from the fridge, or waste time getting into arguments with the mouth-breathers on Twitter.

But she owes Scorpia, both of them really. For all the hurtful things she said and did that she didn’t mean, that only came about because she needed something to hold onto, when everything else was slipping through her fingers. It took time and a lot of therapy to unravel the entire mess that she made, to sift through the ashes and find somewhere to begin again with them. Even with the fragile, rocky restart to their friendship, and even if it’s still a work in progress in some respects, things have actually been better than they ever were before. And though Catra still thinks their forgiveness feels unearned, they assure her otherwise.

She just doesn’t want to take them for granted anymore. So when Scorpia used her puppy dog eyes on her, and said she didn’t have to dress up if she didn’t want to, she reluctantly agreed.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t still complain about it.

“This place is for total dweebs, Scorpia!”

“Oh, but it’s good to get out of the house once in a while!" Scorpia says as they walk past the entrance, heading straight for the alley of vendors' booths. She ducks her head to avoid hitting the awnings, but that can't hide the glowing grin on her face. "Besides getting some fresh air, it's just so exciting! It really feels like we're back in the Middle Ages, you know?"

And to her credit, Scorpia probably wouldn't seem that out of place there in her Medieval barmaid costume, unlike the other two. Entrapta didn't bother dressing any different from how she usually did, and Catra definitely did not spend a while rooting through her closet, trying to pick something that could maybe be termed… rustic, but could still pass for something normal under scrutiny.

Hypothetically speaking though, if she did do that, she might've been a little bitter as her gaze lingered on the opposite side of the alley, where some shrimpy guy dressed like Luigi holds hands with someone in a lizard suit, dressed like Mario. "Yeah… Real authentic."

For better or for worse, the observation is lost on Scorpia as she focuses her undivided attention on the offerings of a homemade crafts booth.

"And just look at all of these!” She gushes, looking longingly at all the kitschy garbage on display. Over at the neighboring booth, Entrapta pokes at what looks like a half-assed attempt at a Rube Goldberg machine. It's not a matter of if, but when it'll break, or rather, "improve" under her touch. Enough that the owner will probably forgive her for tampering with it, but in return will get them stuck there forever if Catra doesn’t find something quick to distract her.

And she gets it, as she scans the path ahead.

It’s impossible not to notice the pink hair. And sure, Catra may have a grudging respect for Glimmer now, ever since that one fateful day when they accidentally ran into each other outside of their apparently shared therapist’s office - where they decided to say fuck it and complain about life to each other over froyo. It’s a ritual that’s continued ever since. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t going to give her shit when she’s dressed like _that_.

It's impossible not to notice the pink hair, especially when it clashes so garishly like that with the red and green of her jester's costume.

“Ugh, not you,” Glimmer groans as they walk over, hat jingling as she throws her face into her hands.

“Nice outfit, Sparkles,” Catra props an elbow on the table in between them, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

“I literally just started my shift and I’m already done for today,” Glimmer mutters, her response barely audible from behind her palms.

“Glimmer!” A scandalized gasp escapes from her distraction: Bow. Catra's still not entirely sure if they weren't surgically attached at the hip at some point, with the way they act. It seems like this is one of the rare occassions that could make her doubt it, since Bow is acting like he couldn’t understand how Glimmer wasn’t pumped as fuck to be here, manning an archery booth at a rundown Renaissance faire. Glimmer just scowls at him in return.

"Wow, you guys are working here? That's amazing!" Scorpia chimes in. Catra can see the gears starting to turn in her head - that if people they know could get a booth, maybe _they_ could too, and under no circumstances can she let Scorpia continue that dangerous line of thought.

"So what's a fool have to do with archery? You going to tell a joke every time Scorpia hits a bullseye?" And because she can't help it, she adds, "It's going to be tough to beat your usual routine, seeing as you're normally a clown anyway."

"Anyhow!" Bow interrupts, his hand over her wrist the only thing keeping Glimmer from lunging over the table. "Glimmer's not just manning archery today, so her costume might not exactly fit. Her family has always been pretty involved in the Faire, ever since we were kids."

"I'm literally just wearing this because I lost a bet with my dad." Glimmer sniffs as she settles back into her seat, her frustration momentarily redirected off Catra. Under her breath, she says, “If I get roasted by the twelve year old I’m babysitting later with my aunt, you better believe I’m throwing hands.”

"In any case, Glimmer’s not the only one out of place here. I'm actually not working this booth either, even if I'm dressed like an archer. I've just got time before my shift starts."

“Did ye olde archers wear crop tops, too?” Catra asks.

“It’s aerodynamic!” Bow defends, which successfully grabs Entrapta’s interest as they debate how true that is, and the merits of crop tops in combat or something. Even though she was the one to spark that topic of conversation, Catra quickly loses interest in it as soon as it begins. More importantly, a realization is slowly dawning on her, like the feeling of finally remembering that she did in fact leave the stove on, with all the dread that entails.

Forgotten in the relish of the opportunity to mess with Glimmer, it occurs to her that if the two of them were there, then the third couldn’t be far behind. And unlike with Scorpia and Entrapta, Catra hasn't hashed out anything with her. She isn’t ready for that confrontation, not without any game plan. She'd rather make like that stove and catch on fire. If she were being perfectly honest with herself, even with preparation she isn’t sure when she'd ever feel ready enough for it.

But there's comfort in denial. It sets her backpedalling - surely Scorpia and Entrapta would understand if she laid low while they chat, right? Just for a little bit? Or at least, that's the idea until she bumps against something solid, drawing a familiar "oof" that she could recognize even in her sleep.

Catra turns around with her heart lodged in her throat, and then all her thoughts just. Stop.

A chainmail shirt greets her sight first, links glinting despite there being no sun to shine on it. A long white shirt puffs out from beneath it, gold ribbons tied to the arms the only thing keeping her sleeves from billowing too far. They match the gold tights she wears, tucked into her nearly knee high metal boots. She has way too many belts wrapped around her waist, but she can’t muster the energy to call her out about it when she looks into that familiar face.

She knows it better than her own. That’s why she can instantly catalogue the faint changes - the slightly more angular jaw, baby fat lost to time spent elsewhere. A small, faded scar on the edge of her chin she doesn’t remember being there before. The deepened lines alongside the bridge of her nose. Here, she frowns at the faint dark circles under her eyes, but her attention is dragged down by the pull on her cheeks from the quirk of her lips.

Catra has no idea what’s going on, but she recognizes the nervous smile on her face. Knows it for the omen of disaster that it is, knows she needs to step on her foot or slap her hand over her mouth before she could doom them all. But it’s too late: Adora is already speaking.

“I beggeth thy pardon…eth, mi’lady,” Adora says, dragging out the “la” in mi'lady several beats too long, when it needed exactly zero of those beats in the first place. It was wrong - so, so wrong. If Catra’s eyebrows weren’t still attached to her face, they would have already reached escape velocity and be well on their way to Eternia. "Pray tell, art thou okayeth?"

Distantly, Catra hears the audible smack of a forehead on wood, followed by a pained, long-suffering groan that she's heard too many times to count over froyo. It snaps her awareness back to herself, in time for her to close her mouth hanging open. There's only one thing to do in a situation like this. She turns to Glimmer.

“Seriously?”

“We just keep her around because she can ride a horse,” Glimmer says, half-defensive, half-trying to convince herself of that fact.

"Wenches vexed!" Adora replies.

Forget talking to Adora. Whatever the hell this is, it's more than Catra can take. So she takes the only out she can find, and says, "Well since I'm here I might as well shoot something, right?" It's at least better than the alternative of waiting until she's tempted to shoot some _one_ instead.

She doesn't bother to wait for a response, grabbing a set of bow and arrows and taking her place opposite the target. In her peripheral she sees Bow get up to follow her, but she can't really pay attention to anything but the feel of Adora's eyes on her back, watching her. It's irritating. She wants it to stop. She doesn't. She does.

She doesn't want to think about it, so she notches an arrow and pulls the string taut. When she lets go, it barely misses the outer ring of the target, which only frustrates her more.

"If you'd like some tips," Bow begins, but she bares her teeth and hisses. For a second, it feels good to see Bow cower in response, but then she just feels bad for falling back into bad habits. As she's about to turn and apologize to him though, Adora steps up to the target next to hers.

“Ah, looks like we have a competitor!” Bow says. Catra scowls. She doesn’t want to deal with whatever agenda Adora has with this, on top of everything else. As she grabs another arrow, she watches Adora take her shot out of the corner of her eye, vindicated when she misses worse than she did. Unlike her though, she accepts Bow’s advice when he offers.

“You only want to use your firing arm for this. Don’t move the rest of your body, and make sure you’re not holding your bow with too tight of a grip. Keep your back straight.” Catra stands a bit taller, keeps her grip on her bow relaxed, and takes the shot. It hits inside the outer edge this time. She looks over and sees Adora has gotten closer to the target, but still missed. She can’t help the twitch of her lips at Adora’s groan of frustration. Bow hums to himself, before getting another idea.

“Ah, I know! Having your shooting hand in the same position every time makes it way easier to adjust your aim. You can do that by touching your chin with your index finger when you pull back, or behind your ear or along your jaw. Just as long as it’s the same place and it’s steady.”

Adora whoops when she finally hits the target this time, but Catra’s managed the inner ring just outside of the bullseye. It’s too easy to gloat when Adora notices and scowls. But this immediately backfires the next round, when Adora hits hers there too, while Catra gets another one on the outer edge. She draws back the next arrow to wipe that look off Adora’s face.

When they run out of arrows, Bow calls it. “Hmm, the points are close, but it looks like Catra’s got it.”

“O, I am fortune’s fool!” Adora says, scuffing her boot in the dirt before wandering off to Glimmer. Catra just watches her leave with a shit-eating grin.

“You did really well,” Bow tells her. “Congrats.”

“Thanks.” Catra replies. Still a little guilty over snapping at him earlier, she throws him a bone. “I’d say I could take you on next, but I know you’re much better at this than me. I was listening in on your advice to Adora after all.”

“You were? I’m glad it worked for you too!” He seems genuinely pleased despite her earlier freak out. He crouches down to root through his messenger bag as he says, “You know, we usually give out prizes to the winners, but I don’t think Glimmer’s taken them out yet. So why don’t you take this?” He holds out a clear bag, a pair of bracelets contained within. “It’s on me.”

“Well, if you insist, I guess.” She rips off the bag, examining the bracelets closer. The material feels like low grade plastic, dyed a gaudy gold that seems like it’d flake off if she scratched at it too hard. A fake teal jewel shines at the center of each bracelet. “Wow, these look cheap as hell.” She says, and yet she still clips them both onto her wrists.

“They are prizes for a fair after all.” Bow admits, a little sheepish. “I think they still look good on you though! Then again, you could probably make anything work.”

“You said it, not me. But still, thanks Bow,” She says, and she doesn’t just mean it for the gift. She thinks he gets it when he tells her, “Anytime.”

Stepping away from the targets, she can't deny that it still feels good to beat Adora at something, even if their history makes it a bit complicated. Even with a simple no-stakes contest like this. She decides she's better off not thinking about that for too long, since dragging those memories back up would only serve to bring her own mood down, so she turns to rejoin Scorpia and Entrapta - but when she looks over to where she left them, they're nowhere to be found. It's only Glimmer sitting there, idly messing with her phone.

“Where did they go?” Catra demands.

“No idea,” Glimmer shrugs. “I think Entrapta said something about wanting to see if she couldn’t make the miniature trebuchets launch a person, and ran off. And Scorpia must have gone to keep an eye on her. Or wait, maybe it was actually them going to look at the Steampunk Emporium instead? Speaking of which, isn't that a little suspect to be at a ren faire?”

“Ugh, they could be anywhere by now." Even if Entrapta started at one of those places, she could get sidetracked at the drop of a hat, and Scorpia would get swept up in the flow of that. Finding them again in this crowd would be a pain. She lets out a breath, a little frustrated but also a little bummed she got left behind yet again. It preoccupies her enough that she doesn't notice Adora walking up to her until she speaks.

“Mayhaps thou couldst biddeth them to bemeet thee later round the main squareth? Mine duty dost not starteth for a few hours, hence…" Adora scratches at the back of her neck, trails her eyes over the booths lining the road until they settle on one in the distance. "Whilst thee waits, couldst this beest mine honest chance to regain mine honoreth? Thou mayst have bested me at archery, but canst thee defeat me at throwing axes… eth?”

There was a lot going on in that sentence, and it sufficiently breaks Catra’s brain to try to parse it. The only thing she could say in response is, “Are you sure we can trust you with something sharp?”

“I supposeth thou art too chickeneth to findeth out.” And Catra knows she can't just let her get away with saying something like that. It may have been the most obvious provocation in the world, but she couldn't ignore it. Not when it's a matter of pride on the line. So she metaphorically rolls up her sleeves, sends a text over to Scorpia, and gets her immediate, effusive apology, with a promise to come running if Catra so much as says the word.

“Oh, it’s on.”

* * *

And yet fifteen minutes later, Catra is left in disbelief. She’s not sure what makes the difference between this and archery, but despite it all, Adora manages to throw every axe straight into the bullseye. When all she gets is a smug, raised eyebrow in return, Catra knows she can't let the record stand like this.

So long story short, that’s how Adora manages to coerce Catra into trying almost every remotely competitive attraction at the fair. When Adora flexes through her chainmail shirt as she outscores her on the strength tester machine, Catra answers it right back by beating her at Ye Olde Whac-a-Mole. And all the while, Adora refuses to drop her weird act, stepping into her role as a Medieval knight with all the grace of a dog with boots over its paws. But even so, Catra is content to play along. It’s easy like this - easy to pretend that there’s no bad blood or hurt feelings between them, that Catra didn’t fuck up what was left of their friendship. That it’s just them, as they used to be: young and stupid and carefree.

“But soft, what light through yonder booth breaks,” Adora says, knocking Catra out of that train of thought. “It is Mermista and Sea Hawk, manning the dunketh tanketh.”

Sea Hawk waves from his seat in his watery prison, shouting a greeting over to them while Mermista casually puts her phone face down on the desk in front of her.

“Oh, hey guys. Fancy seeing you two here, I guess.” If Mermista’s surprised, she sure doesn’t sound like it with her perpetual deadpan. But there’s something about her little grin that raises Catra’s suspicion - like there’s something obvious she’s missing, if she only knew what to look for. She doesn’t like it. Before she can question her about it though, Adora cuts in with a question of her own.

“I couldst say the sameth of thee. Were thou not intending to beest here as pirates…eth?”

“Uhhh. Right.” Mermista looks just about how Catra feels, hearing Adora say shit like that. It takes her a moment to work through the revulsion, but she manages to answer her. “We should have, but Sea Hawk set the boat on fire or whatever. That’s why he’s in here. If he starts another one, we can just put it out like this.” It’s a pretty questionable solution for a problem Mermista skillfully glosses over, but Catra decides that as long as it doesn’t affect her, she could roll with it. “So anyway, are you guys going to play or what?”

“I do believe they don’t have what it takes to knock me down, unlike you, my beautiful Mermista!” Sea Hawk taunts from his perch. Catra makes eye contact with Adora, and she’s glad to find they still don’t need any words to know they’re on the same page.

“ADVENTURE!” Sea Hawk screams on his way down into the water as Catra hits him in again. It’s just as satisfying the second time around, although she has to admit watching Adora knock him in that first time might’ve been the best, just because he was completely dry back then. Unfortunately, Catra misses her chance to get Mermista to spill about what she knows when the booth becomes busy, Sea Hawk’s unfaltering boasts that he won’t get dunked again drawing a crowd that wanted their shot at him.

“So, what’s next?” Catra asks as they amble down the dirt path. Adora hums in thought, but whatever she decides to say next gets lost when she bumps into an ancient old lady with coke bottle glasses. Curiously, she lights up in recognition when she sees Adora. Catra couldn’t have imagined that one of Adora’s new besties would be pushing a century, but if she thinks about it, grandma over here probably still would be a step up as a friend compared to her.

“Ahh, Mara dearie, it’s so good to see you!” Well, nevermind then; she’s just senile.

“Ah Madame - I mean, Razz!” Catra is shocked to hear actual human words and intonation out of Adora’s mouth for the first time that day. She had half-suspected latent brain damage permanently ruined her ability for it. “It’s me Adora. Don’t worry, I can take you to Mara if you’re looking for her.”

“Nonsense! How could I be looking for you when you’re right here?” Razz replies. She suddenly turns to Catra, startling her. Despite Catra having the height advantage for once, the way she leans into her personal space makes her uncomfortable, not to mention the way her coke bottle glasses magnify the gaze that rests so fixedly on her. “Would you like to learn some magic? It’s everywhere you know. You just have to know how to look.” She leans in closer.

“Uh, sure?” Catra leans back.

“Catra, no - ”

“Razzle dazzle!!” It’s the only warning they get before the crazy old bat throws down a smoke bomb right in front of them, glitter exploding everywhere in its wake. When the smoke somewhat clears, she’s disappeared entirely.

“Ugh, what the hell,” Catra coughs. “Is everyone here like this? Insane?”

“Razz doesn’t even work here,” Adora says as she wipes her watering eyes. Ever dutiful, Adora gets two water bottles from a nearby booth: one she gives to Catra, the other she pours into the bomb’s casing. At Catra’s expectant look and proffered bottle, Adora takes a swig herself and says, “You get used to it,” as if that explained everything. Catra guesses she’d have to take what she could get with someone like that.

A loud growl breaks the momentary lapse in conversation, leaving Adora sheepish. Catra thinks it’s cute, until she realizes how dangerous that thought is.

“I think that’s our cue to take a break,” Catra says, trying to collect herself. “Since you got the drinks, I’ll get the food.”

“What? No, I mean, nay,” Adora says gruffly, slipping back into character. “I couldst not alloweth a fair maiden like thyself -”

“Don’t care,” Catra cuts her off; she refuses to listen to Adora’s atrocious knight persona right now, when she can’t be bothered to summon the effort necessary to figure out what the hell she’s saying. “Pick out what you want to eat, or else I’ll pick something I know you’ll hate.”

And oh no, is Adora _pouting_? 

“The barbecueth drumsticks over yonder art goodeth,” She mumbles, as she takes a seat on a nearby bench, across from the main square. “O here, will I set up my everlasting rest.”

Catra bites her lip to keep herself from saying something she really shouldn’t, as she heads over to buy them. She knew pretending like everything was okay would come back to bite her, but old feelings resurfacing on top of the fallout she expected is just the kicker to an already bad situation. She has no right to claim them, not anymore. And if that old hag had any say in it, she never did in the first place. In either case, it’s better to let the hope for anything more than what she can get batter itself to death against her ribcage, like it always has.

* * *

So Catra takes a steadying breath before stepping back into her role of the cocky rival, and shoving Adora’s share of food right underneath her nose. The resulting smile already threatens to undo what little composure she mustered up, so she vents that agitation into tearing through her own set of drumsticks. At least Adora was right about them being good.

The ensuing silence feels heavy with the expectation the games they played kept at bay. It prickles at her skin, sets her nerves buzzing. Surprisingly though, Adora’s the one to break it instead.

“Pray tell, supposing thou were to serveth Etheria as I doth, what work dost thee conceit?”

“Uh,” Catra eloquently utters. “You mean, what do I think I’d do if I worked here too?” Catra’s stumped at the nod she gets in response. She wasn’t exactly expecting small talk. They never needed it before, but then again, they never had a gigantic elephant in the room with them back then either.

“I’m not sure. I used to be good at gymnastics when we were little, so maybe something where I could do flips and stuff. A pirate? An acrobat?” Catra casually inspects her cuticles, picking at the sauce that had seeped into the creases. And for no real reason, just to keep her on edge, Catra’s eyes cut over to Adora’s when she says, “Anyway, I’m flexible in more ways than one.”

The coughing fit that follows is more gratifying than it should be, but petty revenge has always been Catra’s thing. At least, she hopes the red on Adora’s cheeks are from her blushing, and not from her choking to death or something. Adora’s “Forgiveth me, wrong pipeth,” as she chugs water doesn’t really tell her one way or the other.

Catra watches the dancers in the square in front of them while Adora tries to settle down and finish her food. Most of them honestly suck, but there’s one couple that seems like they know what they’re doing. She pays attention to the one with the light blue undercut, who seems to be leading her taller partner around with quick, clean steps, flowing sleeves of her partner’s pink dress fluttering after her. For now, Catra thinks that she too will follow Adora’s lead on this, and throw her a snowball question right back.

“So what made you decide to lay it on so thick with this Medieval speak?” She asks, because honestly, she’s curious. “None of your friends did.”

“This beest mine first faire, so I didst not wanteth to mess uppeth.” That tracks, but… “O, and Glimmer’s sire toldeth me to do so as well, in mine armor’s exchangeth.” Ah, that explains it.

“So is the whole, ‘wherefore art thou Romeo’ thing Micah’s fault too?” Adora whips her head up to look at her, so Catra backtracks. “What? You’ve been dropping references to it the whole time. I had to read that shitty book too, y’know.”

“I uh, I didst not thinketh thee rememberedeth. I reread it last nighteth, as inspirationeth.”

“Yeah, well.” Catra wouldn’t say that it was something always on her mind, but it’s a memory shook loose by those one-liners. Of them younger, cooped up in their cramped bedroom doing their assigned reading during the summer. Of Adora’s furrowed brow as she poured over their falling apart copy of the play, and how she refused to cheat and use Sparknotes for it. Of the way Catra would dramatically act out the death scenes, just to smooth it away. Of the pen cap chewed to wreckage between Adora’s teeth, frustration leaking as she tried to make sense of things. Of the impulse to steal it away, so her mouth could be occupied with something else instead.

Catra’s not brave, not like Adora. She never did try to jokingly suggest they act out one of those kisses. Not when her wax wings were already in danger of melting completely just by lying next to her, palm to palm.

She blames the memory of that for her eyes dropping to Adora’s lips. Catra can feel her own quirk up at seeing how Adora’s habit of being a messy eater hasn’t changed a bit.

“You got sauce on you,” Catra says, as she reaches over and wipes the corner off with her thumb, not a single second of hesitation spared when she sticks it into her own mouth, completely damning herself. It was a half-dead instinct, born of years upon years of being gross with each other, of a childhood spent not knowing where one ended and the other began. In her panic, she makes yet another stupid mistake, catching Adora’s gaze with hers.

It’s not what she’s expecting. Adora doesn’t look uncomfortable or perturbed or disgusted. The eyes on her are molten. That smile, small and soft.

And this is way past dangerous. This is her rib cage on the verge of cracking open from the inside, these are her last feathers failing her, this is her about to hurtle into the sea. She needs something, anything to save her from this.

“So, what was it like?” Catra deflects, retreating into the safety of their pretend game. “How did you become a knight?”

“Ah,” Adora says, straightening her spine. She shakes her head a bit, as if she were trying to clear it, ponytail swinging with the motion. She pauses for a moment in thought, before she nods to herself and says, “I wanted to slayeth a dragon.”

“… What?”

“A dragon. Thou must knoweth, with the wingeths and fire breathingeth - “

“No, not that - I mean, where did you even find a dragon?”

“Oh. Well, I didst not. She wast the one to findeth me.” Adora’s knuckles tighten over the bench, and Catra is starting to feel like she knows where this is going. “She hadst a terrible habiteth of hoarding what she thoughteth wast hers. And I wast one of themeth.”

“… So you wanted to escape her?”

”Mayhaps. Moreth importantly, rather than escapeth, I just wanted to protecteth mine besteth friend.” Adora should never have to wear such a sad smile. Catra grips the bench too now, to keep herself from bolting despite every instinct in her telling her to run. “But after I becameth one, when I thoughteth we couldst finally leaveth that place together, she turned me downeth. And later, mine friend managed to escapeth all on her owneth. She never wast in need for a knight in the first place. ‘Tis funny how that worked outeth.”

“Maybe that was for the best, you leaving on your own,” Catra says slowly, even if it kills her. “After all, it wouldn’t do for a knight to save something she was meant to slay. You never did realize your friend was a dragon all along as well.”

“Catra, that’s not true - ”

“It is.” Catra’s nails scrape against the wood underneath her fingers. It’s finally time to make her see this. “Maybe too much time spent with monsters makes you a monster yourself in the end, but I doubt it - you never turned out that way anyway. Your friend didn’t want a knight if that meant she had to become the damsel, if it meant she couldn’t save you in return. So she chose sharp teeth and claws over that instead.” Catra barks out a bitter laugh. “But your friend was just too greedy. She never wanted to share the treasure that had fallen into her hands, and she couldn’t stand to be second choice. So yeah, maybe she didn’t need a knight after all, but she definitely always needed you.”

“… You were never second choice. You have to understand that.” It’s a shame, Catra thinks. She’d rather have Adora red in the face from laughing or blushing or choking on a piece of turkey, not from her being on the verge of tears.

“Yeah, I get that now,” Catra shrugs, trying to affect nonchalance. “I turned down every hand that reached out to me, until there was no one left. There’s no one to blame but myself for that.”

“So what changed?” Adora asks, voice quiet, like the answer could make or break her.

“… I realized it wasn’t what I wanted. Hurting other people, just to keep them from hurting me. Just because I had been hurt before, and needed something I was in control of. And so now if I want to fix things, all I can do is reach my hand out blindly into the dark and hope someone on the other end grabs on, despite the claws that tore into them before.” She sighs and finally lets go of the bench, fingers aching from the strain of it. “I can’t promise that I won’t hurt someone again. But I can promise I’ll always try to make it better, if I do.”

It feels like a weight is off her shoulders now. Whatever happens next, she’ll at least have said her piece. She fiddles with her fingers in her lap, too nervous to look over at Adora now that everything’s out there. So it stops her heart in her chest when she hears Adora say, “I’m really proud of you.”

Despite her misty eyes, Adora grins bright and free. And oh, this is so much worse than before. Her heart’s already flopped onto the floor in front of her, from where it’s ripped itself out of her chest. Forget falling into the sea, she’s already way passed drowning. The temptation to do something stupid and irrevocable is too much, too sudden. So Catra stands abruptly, turns around to face her, and offers her upturned hand. “Well, there’s no time like the present. Dance with me.”

“What? Oh, I can’t, I uh, I hath two left greaves.” Adora stutters.

“C’mon, you can just follow my lead. The steps are pretty simple, I learned them just by watching. Or are you too ‘chickeneth’ to do even that?” Catra mocks. And she sees she caught Adora hook, line, and sinker, as her hand slides into hers. She offers it a little squeeze before she drags her off.

It’s as easy as breathing - well, at least for her. Probably not for Adora, since although she’s quite determined to match her, she’s not as quick of a learner as her. But still, it’s easy to twirl her out by the hand, only to pull her in again. Easy to skip her feet and clap her hands around her, just to come back together again. Easier still to complain when Adora steps on her toes, and have her shove her in return. But nothing is as easy as smiling and laughing along with her, especially after Catra dips her.

When Adora takes the lead for the next dance and spins her out, she thinks she catches a glimpse of Bow playing in the band, sobbing over his violin before the crowd swallows her view of him once more. It makes her wonder if Medieval music really is that deep, but it also reminds her that they’re technically not alone here. Somehow, she had forgotten all about that. It still doesn’t keep her from feeling disappointed when Adora brings them to a stop after the song ends, hands still gripping hers but attention focused somewhere behind her. Catra glances over her shoulder and follows her stare to Scorpia and Entrapta, their backs to them as they look over knick knacks at a booth.

“I guess it’s about time for my shift, huh,” Adora says, the twist of her mouth wistful. She moves to let go, but Catra holds fast, dragging her off just out of view of any onlookers instead.

“Uh, Catra?” Adora asks as Catra lets go, only to fiddle with the clasp of one of the cheap bracelets she got from Bow. She hesitates just for a moment before she pulls it off entirely, and fixes it onto Adora’s left hand instead.

“This won’t get in the way, will it?” Catra asks.

“No, I mean uh, nay, it shall be protectedeth by mine shield. But why?” Adora stares down at the fake jewel at the center, gleaming despite the overcast.

“When they go off to fight, a knight usually has a token for good luck from a lady, right? Something that they have to return when they come back safe.” Catra stares at a completely empty booth to their side, interest totally captured by it. It sure is worth looking at, over the girl in front of her. “But you’re, you know, you. At this rate, with the way you’re talking, no one’s going to give you one. So I’ll lend you this since it’d uh, it’d be a shame if you just died out there.”

When the silence stretches out far too long to be comfortable, she adds, “You better give it back to me later. I paid good money for it.” She didn’t, but Adora doesn’t have to know.

What she doesn’t expect is Adora dropping down to a knee right in front of her, hand still held in hers. An electric shock races through Catra’s spine when Adora brushes her thumb across the jutting bone of her wrist, right underneath the matching bracelet left on her.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand,” Adora says, fingers trailing down to turn Catra’s over. “This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:” She gently tugs her closer. “My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand,” Her breath warms the back of her hand. “To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

And she does. It’s a simple peck there, right below the plastic jewel, but it’s enough to render Catra absolutely useless. Useless to do anything but stare at Adora’s mischievous smile, as she gets up and says, “Thus a holy palmers’ kiss beest repayment for the favoreth until I make my returneth, mi’lady!” At that, she runs off without a backwards look.

* * *

Long moments later, when she finds herself walking mechanically back to where Scorpia and Entrapta are, she dimly realizes that Adora got that scene completely wrong. It’s a blessing and a curse all at once. A blessing, because she’s already under threat of cardiac arrest with just a kiss to the hand. A curse, because now all she can do is imagine what a real one might be like.

A loud and clear, “Catra!” is the only salvation from her brain crossing the event horizon into that daydream, never to escape. She finds the two of them waiting for her when she looks in the direction of the call, and she’s quietly relieved that it seems like they had fun in her absence, if Scorpia’s new flower crown and shopping bags and Entrapta’s plague mask and cup holder hat combo were anything to go by. They wave at her vigorously as she finally moves to rejoin them, although Entrapta’s attention is quickly stolen away again by the Switch propped up in front of her. Catra doesn’t remember her bringing that along with her. Actually, does she even own one in the first place?

Catra finds her answer when she looks next to her, at a dude who looks like he just walked out of Hot Topic’s basement for the first time in five years. He scowls over at her before shuffling closer to Entrapta. Eyebrow raised, she asks, “Whatcha got there, Entrapta?”

“A smoothie,” she replies as she takes a loud sip. Catra watches the liquid from the tiny drink held in the cup holder on the side of her head travel through the straws and disappear underneath her mask. It’s well past noon, but it’s still too early for Catra to deal with this shit, so she turns to Scorpia instead, who glances up from her phone to give her undivided attention.

“Catra! Hi! Oh just wait right there, I got you something,” She says as she rifles through her things, delicately pulling out a white flower crown soon enough. It seems like it started out rough but got better the further down the chain it goes. “I made you this! I’m sorry it didn’t turn out so good, you know how I am with delicate things.”

“Nah, it’s cool. Thanks,” She gladly takes it from her and promptly drops it onto her own head. Leave it to Scorpia to always make her feel better with little gestures like this. Later she’ll have to figure out how to repay her, but for now she says, “Yours looks pretty well made too.”

“Oh, that’s because the girl in charge of the booth made it for me. I don’t think you’ve met her yet, Perfuma?” Catra thinks she vaguely knows about her through Glimmer. “She said she knows a lot about plants and could tell me about them, so she gave me her number. I was thinking about getting a cactus.”

Ah, that jogs her memory, about why Glimmer mentioned her. Scorpia’s not wrong; Perfuma does know about “plants,” but specifically, she knows about the strains of the one that got you high, and apparently always had some on her. She wonders if she should let her know her, but settles for letting Perfuma figure out how to go about that instead, just for the potential entertainment value later.

“Good for you Scorpia.” Catra says, still happy for her even if she seems like she’s oblivious to Perfuma’s intentions. She has no room to talk, but if she ever hurts Scorpia she’ll have to answer to her. For now though, Scorpia’s answering smile is enough.

Or well, it is until she says, “Oh yeah, I forgot to ask. How’d your date with Adora go?”

“My what.” It couldn’t be, not with Adora. But she remembers that last bit, and suddenly she’s not so sure. She can’t afford to think about this; it’d ruin her.

“Ooh, are you blushing?” Scorpia gleefully observes, eyes twinkling.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Catra gripes, but a realization struck her. “Wait, is this why you and Entrapta left without me?”

“I didn’t want to leave but Glimmer said it’d be good for both of you,” She admits guiltily. Catra doesn’t know whether she should thank Glimmer or throw hands with her. Both, she decides. “Also you kind of have been blasting your sad playlist alone in your room a lot lately. Especially that one Blink-182 song.”

“She gave me $20 bucks,” Entrapta supplies. Catra’s not sure what’s worse between this and Scorpia unintentionally roasting her with her concern. She finds out when Scorpia continues.

“She promised to keep an eye on you guys and keep me updated, so I could come in for the rescue if Adora gave you trouble,” Scorpia waves her phone. “Bow got some nice snaps of you guys dancing.”

A lot of things are suddenly clicking into place - Glimmer’s vagueness, Mermista’s knowing grin, Bow’s crying. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if grandma was in on it too, somehow. Well, maybe she still might be.

And maybe in the before, when she thought she had nothing to lose, before she really did almost lose it all, she would have thrown a fit about being treated like a child like this, irritated over the implication that she couldn’t handle herself or had to be watched. Instead, she says, “You don’t have to rescue me anymore, you know. I can take care of myself now.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’ll still always want to help you.”

There’s nothing Catra could say back to that, so she just settles on bumping her shoulder against Scorpia’s. Glancing at the dark clouds swirling overhead, she misses the look Scorpia and Entrapta exchange when she asks, “So what now?”

* * *

She should have known it would come to this, but the, ugh, _fuzzy feelings of friendship_ , lulled her into a false sense of security. And now here she is, tarp overhead the only thing keeping the drizzle from getting to them, ground beneath already slightly damp despite it. When she realizes who’s here to MC the main event, she knows there’s no salvaging this situation. Yet another thing she should have seen coming since there’s no way they would miss out on an opportunity like this, but somehow she’s still surprised. She can’t even hope to blend into the crowd to escape their notice because she’s already accidentally caught their eye, an evil little grin splitting at the sight of her. But they spare her for now, as they keep going to take their place at the center of the field, turning to address the crowd at large.

“Good day to you, peasants,” they say. “Welcome to the premiere jousting tournament of Etheria. I’m your esteemed host, Double Trouble.” Their eyes cut to Catra. “Before we start, let me go over the rules of _engagement_.” She knows they caught her bristling despite her attempt to hide it, their smile just a little more self-satisfied as their gaze lifts off her.

“Our brave knights will face off against each other three times, aiming for the other’s shield. A single point is earned if the lance’s tip makes contact; two, if the tip snaps off; and three, if the tip shatters entirely. And if one falls off their horse entirely, well, the game’s as good as over.

“Now, onto our competitors. Renowned across all the land from here to Eternia, our lady of hope, Mara!”

Out gallops a woman on horseback, dark hair pulled up and brown skin as warm as her smile. Her helmet is tucked underneath her arm as she waves to the cheering crowd. Her purple accent armor is heavier than Catra expected, going off what Adora was wearing earlier, but she guesses it makes sense if they were going to shatter wooden poles at each other.

“And her opponent, newcomer ready to unseat her and make a name for herself, Adora!”

And there she is, trotting in on a white horse, helmet held in her lap. Catra can still spot her old outfit under the new heavy armor, but just barely. She sighs into her hand at the sight of Adora shooting finger guns with a wink in the crowd’s direction, as they cheered for her too.

“Now, once the competitors are in place and give their greetings, our Queen will give the signal to begin.”

Glimmer’s mom looks as vaguely perturbed as she usually does when Mara and Adora don their helmets and bow to her from their lanes. Standing from her throne behind the field, she raises an arm up and says, “O Merciful spirits, look upon these brave knights and protect them, they who fight for us all. Now then, on my mark,” At her pause, the palpable tension boils. “Get set,” The crowd leans in just as the knights do. “Go.”

The horses burst into action as soon as Angella brings her arm down, lances raised to meet the other. At the cross, the tip of Mara’s snaps off in one clean piece against Adora’s shield, while Adora’s barely misses hitting at all.

“2 points to Mara!” Double Trouble calls out. 

Adora turns her horse around, patting it on the back and murmuring what Catra assumes are reassurances, as Mara goes to replace her lance. They steer their horse to the designated positions, opposite of the ones they started at before. There’s just a moment’s pause, the only thing in motion the rowdy crowd and the pouring rain, until they’re galloping off again. This time, Adora’s lance manages to glance off Mara’s shield, and Mara misses.

“1 point to Adora! The score stands 2-1 in favor of Mara. But the next round is the last - who will be our champion?” Double Trouble is sure to look over to Catra when they say. “I’m sure the thrilling conclusion is bound to make your heart _race_.”

She lets a person cold read her deepest insecurities _one_ time, and they think it gives them free rein to needle her like this. This is why they’re not friends right now.

She looks over to Adora instead, and knows immediately even from all the way here that something’s up. Her hands are curled into what she’s sure are white knuckled fists in her lap, her head bent towards them. If she could get a good look at her face, she’d know she could probably stick a card between the furrow of her brow and have it stick. She’s seen this enough times to know she’s psyching herself out, not wanting to disappoint anyone despite this being her first time even doing it. She’s sick of Adora doubting herself when she has no reason to.

Before she realizes what she’s doing, she finds herself shouting, “Go Adora! Show them what you’re made of!”

Adora’s head whips straight to the crowd. For as much as Catra wants to crawl into a hole at the center of the world and die right now, she also just as badly wishes Adora’s helmet wasn’t on when she finds her in the crowd, just so she could know what she’s thinking about or looking for. All she sees is her relaxing her hands a bit before sitting up straighter, as she gently nudges her horse with a, “C’mon Swift Wind!”

They take their places one last time, that quiet before the storm just that much more tense knowing this is the last. When they start, the only sound is the squelch of mud underneath their horses’ hooves and the thunder breaking out from the clouds. At the last exchange, Mara manages to hit Adora’s shield, but Adora shatters her lance entirely.

“1 point for Mara, but 3 for Adora! The score is 4-3 to Adora!” Double Trouble gestures over to Adora with as much flourish as they could muster in a downpour. “I present to you your champion of Etheria, Knight Adora!”

She lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, as both Adora and the crowd goes wild. She jumps down from her horse and tears off her helmet, hair tie apparently snapping along with it. Mud splattered and drenched like a wet dog from the rain, Adora’s never looked more beautiful.

Watching her grin when Mara comes over to clap her on the shoulder, Catra thinks how predictable her heart is. That even more than the feats before it, her smile is enough to send it pounding. And maybe all of this is a foregone conclusion. Something as inescapable as gravity to drag her to wherever Adora is, always in her orbit, tethered to snap back to her no matter how far away she gets. And instead of falling into old feelings yet again, maybe she just never fell out.

Maybe it’s time to stop running from it.

* * *

There’s not much to see in a rained out Renaissance fair. Most of the attractions she played have closed down, and mud has devoured every path they walked. Of course, the booths are still open, but Scorpia and Entrapta got their fill when Catra was away, and Catra wasn’t very interested in them in the first place.

Hordak has long since slinked off to whatever hole he crawled out of, as far as Catra knows. He left after saying goodbye to Entrapta and only Entrapta. And it seems like their trio would call it a day too at this rate. That is, until Catra spies a familiar figure in the parking lot.

She glances back to Scorpia and Entrapta only to see them already turned towards her, having stopped after noticing she was lagging behind.

“This is the part where I’m supposed to say, ‘go get your girl’ right?” Entrapta says. “I consulted my notes.”

“Just text me if you need a ride home,” Scorpia says.

Catra scoffs, but she can’t quite suppress the smile off her face either. “Yeah. I’ll make it up to you guys another time. See ya.”

She leaves without a backward glance to head over to the other side of the lot. And there Adora stands, clad in the same old outfit she’s worn for half a decade. Her knight without her shining armor. There’s no pretense to hide behind. There’s no one else watching.

“Hey Adora.”

“Catra,” Adora looks shocked to see her, but abruptly seems to come to a realization. “Oh, you must want your bracelet back.”

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t see any knight around here to give it back to me,” Catra waves her off. “You might as well keep it.”

“It wouldn’t do. After all, you’re still my lady.”

It might’ve been smooth, if Adora didn’t make herself blush just as hard with it too. The laugh it startles out of her is loud and free. After all this time, she’s still such a dork. It’s apparently contagious, as Adora giggles along with her. When their laughter dies down, leaving only dopey smiles behind, Adora says, “I was about to go to Domino’s. Wanna see who can eat more slices?”

And there’s only one way Catra can answer. “You’re on.”

Maybe Catra loses that competition, since somehow Adora could put away an entire pie by herself, but later, just before it’s time to go home, she at least manages to show her what a real holy palmers’ kiss looks like.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be posted a week ago but I'm a clown and forgot. Happy She-Ra Eve!!!
> 
> Please look at the beautiful art @shinpoochy made for this fic on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/CADoUaFls24/?igshid=6t82yr3x7od1) or [Tumblr](https://shinpoochy.tumblr.com/post/618136184400609280/slightly-late-but-here-is-my-piece-for-the)!


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